Bleeding Love
by OuEstLaCraie
Summary: The Winchesters' travels bring them into contact with a mysterious young hunter named Serenity O'Leary, who is the leading vampire expert among hunters. Will they be able to figure her out and befriend her, or is she just another potential threat? DeanOC
1. Granite Falls, Minnesota

****

_Author's Note: So, this is my first attempt at a Supernatural fanfic. I've watched this show since the very first episode, and I love it to death, and when I came up with my own character to throw into the mix, I had to get writing. And here it is, the fic I wasn't sure I should post, but am going to anyway. Updates will be slow, I can tell you that now; I'm a busy girl. But I would love reviews, preferably lots of positive constructive criticism and none of the ever-useless flames. And, of course, I hope you enjoy : )_

* * *

**GRANITE FALLS, MINNESOTA**

"So, you've met Serenity O'Leary at last." Bobby chuckled in the Minnesota diner, taking another bite of old-fashioned apple cobbler. "Good girl. Knows her stuff."

"Yeah, but..." Sam didn't know exactly what was bothering him about the girl, but there was something he just didn't feel comfortable with. "Who the hell _is _she, Bobby?"

Bobby pushed his cobbler away and Dean quickly scooped it up, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. The older hunter shook his head wearily, but ignored him to answer Sam's question. "She's just the best damn vampire hunter out there."

"Too bad her specialty isn't demons," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of cinnamon-encrusted apples and golden crust. He swallowed hard and added, "And since when do we pick specific monsters to hunt, anyway? I would've picked jackalopes or something if I'd known we could _pick_..."

Sam glanced at his brother. "_Jackalopes?_" he echoed wryly.

"Yeah, you know, Sammie. Jack rabbits with horns." Dean held his hands up to his head, fingers splayed, to represent antlers...just as the waitress walked over.

"Is everything..._okay_ over here?" she asked warily in a soft, Middle American drawl, eyes darting between the exasperated Sam, the steadily-reddening Dean, and the amused Bobby.

"Just fine, sweetheart," Dean replied first, recovering quickly. He handed the empty cobbler plate to her, smiling brightly.

The waitress smiled back, a bit dazzled, and walked away giggling, and with a bit of a sexy swagger in her stride, leaving the trio to pick up their conversation again.

"She's got a history with vamps," Bobby continued, as if the interruption hadn't occurred. Sam was all ears; Dean was turned in his seat, winking at the young waitress, who beamed back and turned away, blushing. "Dean," Bobby spat sternly, and the older Winchester brother turned back.

"Right, sorry. Vampires, got it."

Bobby nodded. "She tracks all vampire activity across the country. Long story short, she wants to kill this one guy..._real_ baddie..." He leaned over and dug around in a backpack, searching for something, giving Dean the chance to swat Sam's shoulder and gesture at the waitress.

"Hot, huh?" he mouthed, wiggling his eyebrows, while Sam shook his head in disgust.

"She's _sixteen_, dude," he muttered back, and Dean shrugged.

"No harm in looking," he replied smoothly.

"Ah! Here we go." Bobby turned back to the brothers, cutting off further discussion, and slapped a copy of an internet news article on the table. "Cane Tempest," he narrated, tapping the picture accompanying the article. Tempest was about fifty, but still handsome, tall and broad with silver hair and icy blue eyes. He wore a pinstriped suit and grinned directly at the camera, every inch of him groomed to be the epitome of a charming businessman. Bobby continued, "He's been parading around as a wealthy entrepreneur for almost five hundred years. He's strong, insanely powerful...and rich. He can drink his fill and make dozens of people disappear at once, and _no one_ will ever think twice about it."

"So, he's about as close to a real Count Dracula as we're gonna get," Dean said, as he leaned back in the booth resignedly. "_Great_...really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

"Like I said, she's got a history," Bobby reiterated. "Ask her to tell you next time you see her. Maybe she'll tell you."

"Why can't you?" Sam asked. All Bobby had said so far had only made him more wary of Serenity.

Bobby shrugged and looked at Sam. "Not my story to tell," he replied easily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned forward then, hands on the table, and asked, "Now, what happened at the warehouse last week?"

* * *

_One Week Earlier_

Dean and Sam crept up to the abandoned warehouse a little before dawn, armed with garlic, stakes, and various other weapons of destruction and dismemberment. If it were a smaller place, they'd just torch it and get the hell out of Dodge, but it was a hug building with soaring ceilings; they'd just have to decapitate every bloodsucker in the nest. More risky, more bloody...more fun.

The Winchester brothers paused just outside a side entrance into the factory, turned storage space, turned dilapidated eyesore. Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded in return, then kicked in the door.

Every window was covered with thick black fabric to keep out the hated sun. Even as morning began outside, it was eternal night inside the warehouse. Broken crates, old shelves and racks, broken down machines, torn packing paper and string, a few broken pipes, and shards of glass littered the massive room. Dean and Sam crept in silently, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. Flashlights would help them see, but also alert the vampire coven to their presence, if they didn't already know.

"Maybe they're not home yet," Dean whispered, sounding let down.

"Sun'll be up soon," Sam noted softly. "They're here."

"Indeed," a third voice agreed, coming out of the darkness, and muffled laughter echoed around the old factory.

"Warriors...come out and play-ay!" another voice sing-songed, and fresh peals of laughter filled the room.

Sam and Dean stepped closer to each other instinctively, standing back to back. Dean slid a string of garlic and a wooden stake out of his coat, while Sam raised a large knife menacingly.

"Come on, suck on this," Dean mocked, pulling out his shirt collar to boldly offer up his neck to the waiting vampires. "You know you want it!"

Silence met his challenge. The older Winchester almost pouted as he muttered to Sam, "All bark and no bite..."

Sam nodded absently, eyes scanning the dark shapes on a black background for any sign of movement. He felt a hand on his shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm, and jumped. "Dammit, Dean., this is no time to screw with me!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped back. "I'm not doing anything. Now, shut up and let me listen."

Sam whirled on the owner of the hand, but he or she was already gone. Dean rolled his eyes at how jumpy Sammie was getting nowadays, and reached out a hand to grope for his shoulder. "Come on, man. If they won't come to us, we'll...go..." His voice trailed off as he felt hair, shoulder length and definitely _not_ Sam's, and a neck without a pulse. He smiled, chuckling weakly. "Well, hi, there. Come here often?"

In a flash, his arm was twisted behind his back, another hand on his throat, cutting off his air supply. Surprised, he dropped the garlic and stake, the vampire holding him hissing as the garlic almost landed on her shoe. From the sounds of struggle in the dark a few feet away, Dean guessed Sam was contending with a vampire of his own.

"Can't we talk about this?" Dean gasped, the hand on his neck tightening. "I'll...I'll buy you a drink..."

The vampire laughed. "Why?" she inquired, voice teasing and almost musical. "I've got a free drink right here."

Dean laughed, really more a strangled gasp. "Ha, right, good one."

Sam, meanwhile, swiped blindly into the dark with his knife. He knew there was someone close, and others nearby. A vampire landed a kick to his gut and he fell to his knees. Oh, yeah...they were goners.

Sam could just make out Dean, struggling with a slight, but strong, vampire, and saw his own attacker step closer. A circle of vampires, about five others, tightened around them, grinning viciously, eyes hard and cold, obviously very excited and _very_ thirsty.

_Shit_, he thought as another kick, this one connecting with his chin, knocked him over backward. Dean was gasping and struggling for air, unable to loosen the vise-like Vulcan death grip on his throat. The vampires stepped closer. They were screwed...

Glass shattered. Everyone froze. The vampire let go of Dean, and he collapsed, choking, to the stone floor.

"Another one!" one of the vampires snarled, enraged.

The one who'd attacked Sam grinned. "We feast today, my friends," he told his coven, and there were murmurs of delight and yearning to meet his proclamation. "Find the new arrival."

The vampires fanned out, the leader of the nest keeping watch over Sam and Dean. Suddenly, there was a cry of anguish from the other side of the warehouse, quickly followed by another. Dean dragged himself to Sam's side. "Whoever he is," he managed voice still rough, "he's good."

The leader roared in anger, stalking out into the darkness of the warehouse. "Find him!" he commanded in a howl. "There will be more for us to feed on..."

"You promise them a feast," a young woman's voice taunted, "but _I_ bring them death."

The three remaining members of the coven, plus their leader, ran back to the brothers, eyes seemingly everywhere at once as they searched for the third hunter. Same and Dean exchanged a glance and slid out of the circle of vampires. None of the creatures seemed to notice.

Then, the girl seemed to drop out of nowhere directly into the small vampire crowd, wielding an axe. She swung the weapon, dispatching one of the surprised members of the coven with one blow, then stabbed another with a stake, paralyzing him. She leapt straight upward, graceful as a dancer, and kicked out to either side, landing heavy boots on the last two vampires' heads and knocking them aside. She slew the paralyzed monster, then flipped out of the leader's grasp at the last moment. Executing a perfect roundhouse kick to his chest, she slammed him up against a wall and severed his head, bringing the axe around to attack the remaining vampire. Unfortunately, she misjudged, and the blade ended up lodged in her chest. The vampire screeched, but didn't die, and the hunter planted a foot on her chest, kicking back and pulling her axe free of her flesh. "I need this," she told the vampire apologetically, then delivered the death blow.

The girl stood in the middle of the carnage, panting, as Sam helped Dean to his feet, studying her as she fought to get herself under control at the sight of all the blood. She was just under five and a half feet tall, slim, and pretty. She had hair a few shades lighter than chestnut brown, an almost caramel or sandy color, with natural golden highlights, and bright, turquoise eyes. She wore dark denim jeans, a muted pink peasant blouse, and black boots with thick heels, plus a long coat in black leather. She cleaned the axe idly on the shirt of one of the vampires, then turned to the Winchesters and smiled kindly, lighting up her entire face and almost erasing the odd, uneasy feeling Sam had about her. Almost.

Despite the damage she'd done, she seemed friendly enough as she told them gently, "You're safe now." She mistook them for terrified, kidnapped, vampire victims, and pushed, "Get home now."

"Where'd you learn to kill vampires like that?" Dean asked, gawking, though not only at her impressive handiwork.

"Around." She stepped closer, readying to shoo them out of the warehouse, and her smile faded. "Sam and Dean Winchester," she noted, frowning slightly.

"Why the hell does everyone _know_ us?" Dean demanded of Sam in an angry mutter.

Sam ignored his brother and raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Do we know you?"

She shook her head and managed a small, but still dazzling, smile. "Nah. I'm just the girl who saved your sorry asses." With that, she turned and strode back into the darkness, exiting the way she'd come in.

* * *

"And I enjoyed _that_ view," Dean added to Sam's story, grinning at the memory. "She's _hot_."

"Watch that one, though," Bobby cautioned. Sam was glad to see that he wasn't the only one with second thoughts on Serenity. "Cane Tempest is her main target, but...well, boys, she was after your dad for awhile. I'm actually damn surprised she didn't turn on you when you were vulnerable, once she realized who you were."

"She wanted to kill _Dad_?" Sam asked, shocked. Dean was stunned into silence, staring blankly at Bobby.

The hunter sighed. "Shouldn't be telling you this..." he muttered weakly, resistance fading fast as he stared down at his hands, before looking back and telling them, "You see, Tempest murdered a bunch of people up in Tee Harbor, where she grew up--it's near Juneau. In Alaska." Dean still looked confused, but Bobby pushed on. "It's not important where it is...anyway, he killed a few dozen townies, and John was lookin' for a new case. He caught wind of it and headed up that way, but Tempest heard about your dad first. He started leaving evidence behind, all subtle-like. He framed the only other vampire in Tee Harbor, Christian O'Leary, and your dad torched the house and killed him. Few days later, Deirdre O'Leary killed herself out of grief. Serenity's after Tempest for reasons other than that, too, but she's always kept an eye out for your father. Probably killed her to hear he'd died...

"She's a killer, boys," Bobby stressed in closing. Dean made to protest, to defend the girl he barely knew, but Bobby silenced him with a raised hand, adding, "She's cunning and strong and a bit wild; there's more to her than you know. Look after yourselves if you run into her again, but try to get the full story. If you ever find out, you'll understand why I'm warning you about her."

"If she's so dangerous, tell us more about her," Sam pleaded, ever the voice of reason.

But Bobby shook his head firmly, took out his wallet, and said nothing else but, "Now where'd that waitress go? I've got things to do..." The conversation was over. For now.

Eventually, the bill was paid and the trio walked outside, standing under mounting snow clouds. It was early March, but Mother Nature seemed to be ignoring that fact in the Midwest.

"Take care of yourselves, boys," Bobby said in parting, smiling fondly at Sam and Dean. 

"Keep up the good work. And, if I were you, I'd avoid meeting Serenity O'Leary again."

"We'll steer clear," Same assured him. "Bye, Bobby."

"Have fun with the poltergeist in Atlanta," Dean called after him, and the older hunter raised a hand in thanks. The brothers climbed into their black Chevrolet Impala, then wound down country roads until they hit Interstate 90, heading west towards new exploits.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_, or any of the characters, plots, or places therein. However, Serenity O'Leary, including her entire backstory, is mine. Take her and she'll kick your ass. Seriously. Don't try it; it WILL get ugly.**

* * *


	2. Rapid City, South Dakota

**_Author's Note: Sorry for the slow update, but here's Chapter 2. It's not very long, but the next one will be much longer. So, everyone enjoy the finale tonight, and enjoy the new chapter!_**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. Serenity's mine, of course, but, unfortunately, Sam and Dean are not.**

**RAPID CITY, SOUTH DAKOTA**

A few hours later, they were in South Dakota. Dean had already forgotten about the Minnesotan waitress, but thoughts of Serenity still lingered in his mind. While Dean was intrigued by her, Sam was still extremely wary of her, and considered them lucky for not having run into her again on their way out of Minnesota. His wariness, however, led him to research the hunter. He didn't find much, just enough to confirm what Bobby had told them about her early life, and a bit more on Cane Tempest. The vampire was relatively young, by vamp standards, at least, but he had quite a life: he was the founder and CEO of Bad Blood Enterprises, which dabbled in everything having to do with show business, from producing films to scouting for actors to promoting every one of its own endeavors. The company's headquarters were, surprisingly, in Massachusetts. Not a hot bed for movie activity, but apparently, Tempest liked the "peace and quiet" his acre and a half property and two-point-five million dollar mansion afforded.

The brothers set up shop in a Days Inn outside Rapid City. It was one of the nicer hotels they'd stayed in, and they amused themselves by researching the case on lounge chairs beside the indoor pool and eating burritos at a place called Cactus Kim's. The case called for them to break into Mount Rushmore and rid the area of a restless spirit, who had a tendency to break off pieces of Lincoln's nose or Roosevelt's moustache and fling them at foreign tourists. Local legend said a man had climbed to the top of the Jefferson bust to show off, only to take a bad fall and die up there. His friends, who had pressured him into the stunt, merely left town, not exactly up to the task of climbing up and retrieving the body of their fallen comrade.

By midnight of their third night in Rapid City, Sam and Dean were at the base of Mount Rushmore, climbing gear at their feet and salt, gasoline, and matches at the ready. They stared up into the presidents' nostrils for a time, plotting out their route up, when Sam sniffed the air and asked Dean, "Hey, man...you smell that?"

Dean glanced around, breathing deeply. "Probably just a bonfire, or something," he replied. "Some kids having fun. Come on." He began unwinding the first rope, setting up for the long climb, when Sam caught his arm. "Hey, what the--" he protested, but Sam shushed him and nodded upward. The brothers looked up and, sure enough, there was a sort of bonfire up there, the light of the fire visible at the crest of Washington's skull. As they watched, transfixed by the flickering flames and the faint smell of gasoline, a figure came into view. The person swung down, over the first president's head, and repelled down the mountain easily, with a grace unknown to most, and touched ground quickly. The fire was dying by the time he or she was gathering his or her things and preparing to flee the scene.

"Hey!" Dean hissed, creeping off quickly towards the other figure.

Sam had no choice but to follow, though he growled, "What the _hell_ are you doing?" and stayed a bit behind his brother, pulling a switchblade out of his jeans, just in case.

The figure turned to face them, then swung its head around to run, long hair bound back in a ponytail flinging back and forth like the tail of an agitated, well...pony. Closer now, Dean could just make out a woman's form, as she hefted a bag onto her shoulder and flung a coat over her arm. She glanced back at them, then vanished into the shadows.

But Dean was on her tail, as they were both well-accustomed to sneaking quickly and quietly into and out of bad situations and following those who didn't want to be followed. He reached out a hand, fingers brushing her bare arm, and managed to get a good hold on her. "What are you, stupid? What were you doing up there?" he demanded, hoping she was just a kid who had tried to do something way out of her league, and annoyed at the prospect that another hunter may have beaten he and Sam to the body.

"My job," she spat back bitterly, and even in the gloom Dean knew it was Serenity O'Leary again. She recognized him at the same moment he recognized her, and she added teasingly, "_Your_ job, too, I guess. Been slacking, have we, boys?"

Sam caught up at an easy gait, slipping the blade discreetly back into his pocket, as Dean managed a charming smile. "So, you heard the legend, too."

Serenity nodded. "Yep. And it's all taken care of--no more presidential bits flying about, I promise."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, trying to keep his tone light and casual instead of interrogative.

"I go where the cases bring me," she replied coolly. "I suppose Bobby told you I'm the vamp expert among hunters; I came to investigate a nest a few miles from here, heard the story, and decided to torch the remains and let the poor man rest at last."

"How did you know we talked to Bobby?" Sam asked, and this time, his voice was hard and sharp.

"Oh, Sam," Serenity sighed, as if answering a small child's inquiry, "I know _everything_."

"Cryptic," Dean muttered, but wilted when Serenity shot him a steely glare.

"I know all about the famous Winchesters," she told them. "I make it my _business_ to know. Not just about you, but every other hunter out there, as well as all the monsters calling this planet home. I take joy in ridding the Earth of such creatures; don't you?"

"Eloquently put," Sam agreed blandly, a sarcastic note creeping into his tone.

"Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long day, and I still have a vampire nest to contend with." She readjusted the bag on her shoulder, managed a fleeting, friendly smile, and said, "G'night, boys. Sleep well."

Sam and Dean watched her go, tossing her things over a high fence and then climbing lithely up and over. They followed, getting to their car just as she pealed out in her own, headed for more work, then drove back to the Days Inn. Back in their room, Dean lounged on his bed while Sam surfed the Internet for other mysterious happenings to investigate.

"So, where to, Sammie?" Dean asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Listening to Sam type was driving him up a wall.

"Well, there's a supposed haunted house in Seattle…"

"Too wet; we'll let someone else deal with it. Next?"

"Eh…rash of disappearances in Manhattan?"

Dean propped himself up on an elbow, looking at his brother. "Mysterious circumstances?"

"Um…" Sam scrolled down the webpage, skimming the _New York Times _article, only to sigh and admit, "No."

Dean sighed and flopped onto his back again, staring at the ceiling. "Next up?"

"Big Foot sightings in--"

"Forget it. It was a guy in a costume; I'll bet you anything."

Sam frowned at the computer, falling back into his moody silence as he scrolled through database after database. Suddenly, the typing and clicking picked up, and Dean sat up to watch his brother work busily, following a lead.

"Got something?" he prodded.

Sam nodded mutely, finishing his search, then smiled faintly. "Yeah: a string of deaths down in New Orleans. Apparently, once a month, every month, for the last year, a bunch of people have gone missing—tourists, townies, young, old. No one's safe."

"Okay, patterns are always a good place to start…"

"The last disappearances happened about three weeks ago, between nine at night and five in the morning."

"Werewolves; I like it," Dean commended. "We'll actually be hunting animals for once. Sort of…poetic, I guess." He stood and walked to Sam's side, glancing at the computer screen. "Anything else between here and there?"

"Not that I can find," Sam replied. "But we might come across something on the road." Sam shut down the laptop and tucked it away, leaning back in his chair, as Dean settled back onto the edge of his bed. Dean dug around in the side table drawer for the TV remote, came across the Bible, and waved it at Sam, grinning.

"Gotta love those Gideons," he said cheekily, tossing the book back into the drawer and pulling out the remote. He turned on the television, flipping through the channels for a good action flick, and somehow finding only Lifetime movies and repeats of primetime dramas.

Sam was quiet for a long time, lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, he piped up, "Don't you think it was weird we ran into her tonight?"

"Ran into who?" Dean asked without looking at his brother, eyes glued to the screen.

"Serenity," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "I mean, first she's after the same vampires we are, then she just so happens to show up in Rapid City to take care of a malign spirit we've had our sights on for almost a week now?"

Dean shrugged, managing to pull his attention away from another stellar Tracy Gold performance to say, "She's a hunter, Sam. We were bound to cross paths someday."

"I just think it's all too coincidental."

Dean considered his younger brother for a moment before smiling faintly. "So, she's, what?" he asked wryly. "Stalking us?"

Sam sighed. "Forget it."

"No, come on, share your conspiracy theories with me."

"I said _forget_ it," Sam repeated firmly, frowning.

Dean laughed and looked back at the TV. "Whatever you say, bro." He reached over to shut off the bedside lamp, leaving Sam in his corner in the dark, and leaned back into the almost-flat hotel pillows. "Night, Sam."

"Yeah, good night," he replied sourly, rising from his seat and settling onto his own mattress for a good night's sleep.


	3. New Orleans, Louisiana

**_Author's Note: So, this chapter's a longer than the others have been, and there's kind of a big revelation in here somewhere. So enjoy : ) And please, REVIEW! Those little notes keep me sane (and writing)._**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one you recognize from the _Supernatural_ TV series. But, if you've never seen it on TV, there's a good chance it belongs to me...so just don't take a chance, and don't steal anything, 'kay?

* * *

****New Orleans, Louisiana**

Next morning, a little after ten, the brothers were packed and ready to go, beginning the drive down to Louisiana. They bounced between numerous interstates and US routes, taking turns driving and continuing the journey through the night. They made good time, and drove into New Orleans at eleven-thirty the following 

morning. They checked into the Canal Street Hotel a little while later, which boasted small rooms, dirty bathrooms, and rodent infestation, but also offered free breakfast every morning and wireless internet access, and was the cheapest hotel they could find. They spent the rest of the day catching up on their beauty rest, then went out to walk the streets of the city that night.

New Orleans may have been beaten hard by the hurricanes, but she was coming back with a vengeance. Crowds of people filled the streets, enjoying the warm, humid night, planning on drinking until dawn and then sleeping through the worst of the hangover the next day. The bars were packed, as were any clubs (jazz, dance, or otherwise) that the brothers passed on their self-guided walking tour of New Orleans, and even the dimly-lit voodoo or psychic shops weren't neglected.

An hour and two beers after sunset, Sam and Dean stumbled upon a tiny shop down an alley, situated between a noisy pub and a bed and breakfast. A sign at the head of the alley proclaimed simply, "Madame Malaya's, This Way," and they paused, glancing at each other.

"Judging by the advertising, I'd say she's not in the business for the money," Dean noted.

"If anyone around here will know anything, she will," Sam agreed, and they walked down the alley without another word.

At the opposite end of the gloomy alleyway was a flight of stairs leading to a wooden door nestled into the back brick wall of the bar. As Dean and Sam mounted the steps to the tiny landing, they could feel the stairs shake with every beat of the house music playing in the bar. On the door hung another sign announcing Madame Malaya's shop, hiding the faded stickers that denoted the apartment as number 96B. Dean glanced at Sam, who was down a few steps since they couldn't both fit on the landing, and knocked.

It took quite a bit of pounding to get Madame Malaya's attention, but she eventually came to the door and smiled at her customers. She was an elderly black woman with shimmering silver hair and violet eyes, swathed in long, flowing fabrics in bright red, yellow, and green.

"Ah, _bonjour_," she greeted them. "Come in, boys, come in."

The brothers followed Madame Malaya into her home, Sam shutting the door behind him to block out at least some of the noise from downstairs. They walked down a narrow hallway, with two doors leading off it on either side, to a sort of sitting room, where Malaya obviously conducted all of her business dealings. She settled herself into a thick armchair upholstered in a rich royal blue, and beckoned for Sam and Dean to pull up seats from the elegantly carved mahogany chairs placed against the wall. They drew up chairs and sat opposite Madame Malaya, across a round table that was obviously part of the same set as the chairs, as the old woman pulled out tarot cards, herbs, and other tools of her trade.

"Something troubles you both," the woman mused aloud in a faint French accent, frowning slightly at the Winchesters. "Something with your work…"

Sam shot Dean a guarded look before leaning forward and admitting to the psychic, "Yes. We were hoping you could help us."

"That is what I'm here for," Madame Malaya replied, and grinned again. "Would you like a reading? Your fortunes read? Your futures foreseen, perhaps?"

"We actually just want to ask you a few questions, if that's all right," Sam said gently, and she didn't seem happy about it, but acquiesced.

"What do the two troubled young men need to know?"

"A lot of people have gone missing over the last year," Dean began, cutting to the chase. "What can you tell us about that?"

Malaya sighed wearily, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the cool surface of the table. Lowering her voice confidentially, she inquired in reply, "You are hunters then, eh?" The brothers, stunned, didn't reply, so she pressed on. "You heard of the tragedy somehow, and the Lord sent you to help the city. And I thank you for coming, but I must also warn you of what you face."

"It's werewolves, isn't it?" Dean interrupted.

Malaya, a bit perturbed by the interruption, nodded curtly. "Yes. But the pack has been in New Orleans since the early days—it is said even the Duke of Orleans himself was a wolf, and he changed many of the explorers and colonists so as to populate the city named in his honor with creatures like him. Whether that is true or not, I cannot say. But the wolves were—and I'd guess still _are_—very powerful and courageous, and very important to the city."

"That may be," Sam allowed, "but our theory is that each month, a newly-turned wolf is attacking these people."

"A possibility," Malaya agreed, nodding along.

"So, we need to know if you've noticed anyone acting strangely, if anyone, or anyone's behavior, sticks out 

in your mind as odd."

Malaya hesitated. She obviously knew something, but was reluctant to share what she knew. Luckily for her, she was saved from answering by the slamming of the front door. She leaned forward in her seat as Sam and Dean glanced down the hall for a glimpse of the newcomer, who turned out to be a young black man in a tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He caught sight of Malaya's customers and made to vanish into a room off the hall, but the old woman was already out of her chair, advising, "Leon, that had better be your sorry ass coming home."

"Yeah, Grandma, it's me," the young man, who was about twenty years old, sighed. He turned to face his grandmother, who caught his ear and dragged him into the drawing room, muttering to herself in French about his impudence and irresponsibility.

"I told you to be home for supper and what? You are not home. You were out with those hooligans again, weren't you?" Leon didn't reply right away, whimpering quietly in pain, so she twisted the fragile cartilage of his ear, demanding, "_Weren't you?_"

"Ow, ow, no, Grandma, I wasn't!" Leon exclaimed, begging her to believe him. "I had work; I told you this morning. I went to class until one and then went to the garage to help Marco and Bastien!"

"So, you lie to me now, too?" Malaya said, frowning. "You _were_ with them." She glanced at Sam and Dean, murmuring, "Excuse us, please, boys," before dragging her grandson into another room. They heard low, arguing voices, as Leon tried to explain he was working with his friends, not hanging around with them, and Malaya refused to believe him, undoubtedly shaking her finger at him as she listed his friends' unfavorable traits. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance as a loud smack rang out from the other room, followed swiftly by a cry of pain from Leon. The boy stormed out of the room, his grandmother following after him, shouting at him not to leave, but Leon stopped in another room for long enough to grab a leather jacket, then left the apartment.

Malaya shuffled back to her seat, shaking her head and apologizing to the brothers. She dropped heavily into her armchair, explaining, "My son's wife left him when Leon was a baby, and then my son died unexpectedly in a car crash. I was left to raise my grandson, and things have usually been good. But lately, they are…" She sighed, shrugging helplessly. "Not so good."

"Has he changed recently?" Dean questioned. "Personality, appetite, the crowd he hangs with?"

Malaya thought it over, then nodded slowly. "He has always been friends with Marco and Bastien, and they were good friends." She paused. "When you asked if I had noticed anyone behaving strangely, I did not want to tell you…but about a year ago, Marco went to work for a mechanic named Artois Michel. He is an old man, older than me, but he is no good. Marco was always so sweet, but he turned bad after working for Artois. Bastien followed, then about four other friends of Leon's, and finally, Leon himself just a few months ago. No young man has gone into that garage and come out the same."

"So you think this Artois Michel changes them?" Sam asked, and Malaya nodded the affirmative.

"And that is why I want you to be careful," she said, smiling wanly. "You two are such nice boys, proper gentlemen. I do not want you to have the same fate as my Leon."

"We'll be careful," Dean assured her with his winning smile. "And we'll find out what's going on with this mechanic."

"God bless you," Malaya said, reaching out her trembling hands for each boy to grasp. She smiled fondly at them for a moment, then rose to lead them to the door. As the brothers stood, she let Sam walk ahead and caught Dean's arm as he passed. "Time is running out for you, boy," she whispered hurriedly. "You must accept that only to fight it. You _must not_ leave your brother alone; he cannot fend for himself. Your death will change him greatly, so you must do everything in your power to save yourself."

Shaken, Dean could only nod, and vow to himself never to mention the conversation to Sam. _Ever_.

The next night would be the full moon, so they didn't have much time. Just after waking, Sam and Dean drove over to Artois Michel's garage, and pulled into the lot. Three mechanics were busy at work in the garage, and an older man, obviously Michel, surveyed their work, criticizing and sipping at a cup of lukewarm coffee. Michel turned at the sound of the approaching car, beaming at the classic machine, and waving. Dean managed a grin in return, and Sam nodded his greeting, both boys climbing out of the car and coming to the elderly mechanic's side.

"I'm sorry to see such a great car brought to me," Michel said, shaking Dean's hand and nodding to the Chevy. "What's wrong?"

"We travel a lot, my brother and me," Dean replied, and shrugged sadly. "She's just getting old, I guess. Mind checking it out?"

"Course not. I'll do it myself." Michel set his coffee aside and had Dean pop the hood, then thrust his head inside. Malaya was right—Artois Michel looked much older than she, but didn't behave it. He had silvery hair and tanned, leathery skin, but his eyes were bright and his gait energetic. He threw himself into his work one hundred and ten percent, bouncing to the beat of a Bruce Springsteen song on the radio and keeping up a conversation with his customers.

"So, you boys enjoying New Orleans?" he asked conversationally.

"Oh, yeah, tons," Dean replied blandly, and Sam socked his arm, demanding he at least _act _excited before he blew their cover. They had a silent argument, glaring at each other and mouthing obscenities, and Dean added at last, with more enthusiasm, "We haven't been hear long, but it's a really great place."

"Aye."

"Are you from around here, sir?" Sam asked, sounding interested. Men like Michel needed to have an audience to tell their story, and a story is exactly what they wanted from Michel.

"Yep, born and bred," the mechanic replied, tinkering with the engine. "Been here and there, o' course, but I always seem to come back."

"So you must like the nightlife, huh?" Dean prodded, grinning.

Michel laughed at this, and replied, "I used to. I'm gettin' old, though—I only get out once or twice a month."

The brothers glanced at each other, and Dean pressed on with the questions. "A lot of kooks, though, huh? The psychics and ghost hunters and everything…"

"Yeah, we get our fair share." Michel straightened, wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve, and considered Sam and Dean for a moment. "But I guess you just get used to it, especially livin' in a town so full of history." He returned to his search for the phantom car trouble, and asked, "Where are you boys from?"

"Kansas," Sam replied. "Nothing too special."

"Home's always special." There was a clattering, and Michel stood up straight, eyes narrowed in the direction of the noise. "Hey, Marco!" he shouted across the garage. "Watch it, eh? These are other people's transportation vehicles we're dealin' with here!"

"Sorry, Artie," the rebuffed young man replied, and everyone settled back into their jobs.

"My dad would have had my ass for something like that," Dean noted, and Michel smiled.

"Yeah, but they're good kids. We're like a family here, ya know? A lot of them don't have a dad, or a mom, or any relatives, really. I give 'em a job, food when they need it, some money for school. I'm not a rich man, but I am just one man—I have enough to share with a kid trying to change his luck."

"That's good of you," Sam commended, and the conversation went on for a bit, until Michel announced nothing was wrong with the car and they were all set to go.

"Come back anytime," he said in farewell, grinning. "Just ask for Artie, and I'll fix you up right."

"Thanks a lot," Dean said, a huge, false grin on his face, and Michel waved as they drove away. At a stoplight, Dean mused, "He was too slick."

Sam nodded. "Somehow, he knew we were there to check him out. I think he knew we were hunters."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, and slammed on the accelerator as the light turned green, smiling. "But he'll know for sure tonight."

At Artie's Garage, Michel returned to the shade of the garage overhang, watching his employees work. Looking at Marco, he asked, "You felt it, too, then?"

Marco was tall and broad-shouldered, with deep brown eyes that gave him a deceivingly cherubic look despite his size. He nodded as he said, "That's what made me drop that rim. Sorry, _padre_." It was more a term of endearment than a title amongst the mechanic and his employees; a lot of the kids called him Pop or the less formal Artie, or some variation of either name.

Michel dismissed the comment with a wave as another boy asked, "What did you two feel, Artie?"

"The brothers in the Impala," Marco explained, sighing wearily at the boy's ignorance. "Man, they were _hunters_. They come after people like us."

The boy, only sixteen, gulped and returned to his work. "But they don't know about us, right? They won't hurt us…they _can't_."

"They knew, all right," Michel said slowly, sighing. "And they _can_ hurt us." He paused and grinned viciously. "Guess we'll have to teach 'em not to mess around in other people's cities, aye?"

Marco and Bastien laughed, while the teen hid underneath a car, pretending to work but really fretting about what that night's full moon would bring.

Night fell, but the city was just as awake as it had been all day (if not more so). Dean and Sam hit the streets at ten o'clock, pushing through the crowd with both eyes wide open for any sign of an animal amongst the partying humans. They each bought a beer, drinking as they walked, and headed for the garage. The place was dark and silent; if the wolves had been here, they definitely weren't now.

Away from the bars and clubs, the streets were quieter, with only a few people straying from the centers of activity for solitary strolls in the warm night. Most carried bags of souvenirs or light coats, perhaps a bottle of beer to help mellow out; the Winchesters were the only people out with guns loaded with silver bullets.

Well, at least _they_ thought so.

They had turned around and doubled-back towards the bars around midnight, after canvassing a good five blocks in every direction. They were preparing to get back to the hotel to grab the car and hunt the wolves right when they heard a gunshot, followed by a yelp, as if from a mangy street dog, and then a deep, guttural growl. They glanced at each other and hurried towards the ruckus, pausing at the head of a short, dead-end alley. There was a werewolf huddled in a corner, with bushy black fur and bright eyes, alight with pain and anguish, as he nursed the spot on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him. Standing, and reaching a height well over six and a half feet, was another wolf, this one with golden-brown fur and dark eyes. He had a young woman pinned to the wall by the neck with one huge paw, snarling in her face, trying to intimidate the girl who just wouldn't seem to show any other emotion than bored indifference. Dean recognized her at once: Serenity O'Leary. Sam made to move in and save her, but Dean held him back; he wanted to see how she handled the situation.

"Whatchu doin' on our land?" the werewolf demanded, teeth barred menacingly.

"Looking for you, actually," Serenity replied, a little short on air but managing a bright grin. "You've saved me a lot of trouble—thanks a bunch."

"Don't screw wit us," the wolf snarled, as Serenity jumped up and down on his last nerve. "Youse a hunta; youse here to kill us."

"Why bother asking a question to which you already know the answer?" she asked impudently, receiving a sharp blow across the face in reply.

"You tink we don' know whatchu are?" the werewolf murmured.

"I think it's already been established that I am, in fact, a hunter…"

"Youse a _bloodsucka_," he snapped, spitting the word like an insult.

Serenity was quiet a moment, and Sam and Dean shared a look in the shadows. Slowly, she allowed, "Only half, you know. But killing me would still break the Covenant."

The werewolf laughed. "Like youse wasn' tinkin' 'bout killin' Leon," he shot back, indicating his injured companion with a nod of the head. "You don' give a rat's ass 'bout da Covenant."

"True enough," Serenity replied, hand creeping around her back and into the depths of her coat, striving for the gun stashed in the back of her jeans. "But it only really half applies to me, right? So, I only kill half your pack. How about that?"

"No deal," the werewolf replied, grinning viciously as he leaned in closer to her. "But I promise t' only rip out half your neck, eh?"

"Or we end this, here and now," Serenity suggested.

The wolf was intrigued. "Watchu talkin' 'bout? How?"

"Like this." She whipped out her gun, freed herself of the strong grasp keeping her pinned to the wall, and fired two shots, all in one fluid movement, before the young monster could react with so much as a bark. As the wolf crumpled to the ground, changing back into a human, Serenity whirled around and pressed the barrel of the gun to the wounded Leon's temple, cocking the gun. "Any last words, Leon?"

"Bastien," he sobbed quietly, covering his eyes with a shaggy paw as he mourned his fallen friend.

"Wouldn't have been my choice, but okay." The hunter shrugged, her finger tensed on the trigger, and she almost blew his head off.

"Wait!" Dean shouted, unable to watch the young man die, even if he was a werewolf. He charged into the alley, Sam close behind, to stop the execution, shaken by the admission she'd made but unable to process it just yet.

Serenity jumped at the sight of them, raising the gun to defend herself. Then, realizing who it was, she dropped the gun with a weary sigh and exclaimed, "Jesus Christ, I almost _shot_ you morons! Ever heard of _announcing_ yourselves?"

"Sorry; had to interrupt," Dean replied, taking her annoyance in stride, watching as her eyes flickered to Leon. She was chomping at the bit to kill him and be done with it, so she could go about hunting the other wolves in the pack.

"Mind explaining what's going on?" she asked, her voice calm even as the adrenaline of a good scare (and a good fight) coursed through her veins.

"We know him," Sam responded, and shrugged. "Sort of. We met his grandmother yesterday."

"And…?"

"And she's a good woman," Sam continued, trying to reason with her. "We don't want to just murder her grandson without the full story."

"_What_ story?" she demanded. "He becomes a monster at the full moon and he kills people." She brought 

the gun around, pointing it at the back of Leon's skull, and muttered, "Sounds like reason enough to kill him to me."

"It's not like that!" Leon exclaimed wildly, pleading for his life. "Please, you have to understand…!"

Dean glanced at the boy, frowning. "We need him alive," he urged. "He can lead us to the rest of the pack."

"I know where they are," Serenity replied. "He's useless now."

"We need him to get in, don't we?" Dean pressed, and Serenity faltered, letting the gun fall to her side once more.

"I can get in undetected alone," she replied, and looked at them with a small smile playing on her lips. "But with you two along…it'll be next to impossible." She grabbed Leon's bad arm, making him whimper in pain, and hauled him roughly up off the ground. Prodding him in the back with the pistol, she said, "Come on, off we go." Pushing the wolf before her, Serenity started walking in the direction of Artie's Garage, the Winchesters fanning out behind her in case any other members of the pack launched a surprise attack.

The odd quartet walked along in silence for about a block before Dean, a perturbed look on his face, trained his eyes on the back of Serenity's head and asked levelly, "So, you're a vampire?"

"Don't sound so hurt," Serenity snapped. "You barely know me." She took a few steps, and then, as if she had something to prove, stressed, "And I'm only _half_ vampire."

"Is that even possible?" Sam asked, honestly intrigued by her situation.

"My dad was a vampire and my mom was human," Serenity explained. "But I guess Bobby already told you that."

"How'd you know we talked to Bobby?" Dean demanded, and he heard her sigh wearily.

"Didn't I once tell you I make it my business to know everything? Now," she said, glancing back at him over her shoulder, "do you want to hear my story, or not?"

"Please, continue," Dean invited with false politeness.

"A ritual that's powerful enough to kill you and then bring you back to life as a superhuman being must affect your DNA _somehow_," Serenity began, "and since I got half my genes from my dad, I've got a little vampire in me. I'm pretty sure I won't live forever, and I think the usual, mundane weapons of mass destruction would be enough to kill me." She smiled. "So, I'm just your everyday, average, American girl." She considered her words, and added, "With a lower body temperature than most people and damn good reflexes."

Dean chuckled, glancing at Sam, who managed a faint smile in return. Serenity was certainly charismatic and witty, and she had obviously won Dean over (or so it seemed), but Sam wasn't quite ready to consider her a friend, or even an ally. Not just yet, at least.

They had reached the garage, and conversation waned. But Serenity and Leon, the half of the group who actually knew where they were going, walked across the deserted parking lot and made for a small house beside it. They walked around the side of the dwelling and to a set of cellar doors in the ground at the back of the house and paused.

"Open them," Serenity commanded Leon, indicating the cellar doors.

"Wait," Dean advised, catching her upper arm. She turned her head to glare at him, eyes locked on his and full of barely-contained rage, and he attempted to appease her with, "You don't think maybe we need a plan, or something?"

Sam snorted. "Since when do you plan, Dean?"

Serenity smirked, glancing between Sam and Dean, and replied, "We go in, we do what we do, and we go home. I think that's plan enough." Turning back to Leon and shaking Dean's hand off her arm, she commanded again, "Open the doors."

Leon, the fight having left him long ago, did as he was told, and led the way into the gloom of the cellar below the little house. At the bottom of the stairs, he gave a low growl, and all three hunters were on alert. It had sounded too much like a warning for them to be comfortable anymore. But Serenity was at an advantage; being half vampire, she could already see almost perfectly in the dark, while Sam and Dean struggled to make out shapes in the gloom. So she was the first to see Leon dive to the side, clearing the way for Artois Michel himself to launch forward.

Serenity, still in the lead, took the brunt of his blow, stumbling backward into Dean, as Sam sidestepped the fray and pulled out a gun, ready to fight. Michel snapped at Serenity's neck, but she shoved him off and attacked him, more comfortable on the offensive. Dean stepped forward and two werewolves rushed him, while another one stalked in the shadows and Leon nursed his shoulder, figuring out a way to protect his wound and still join the fight to protect his pack. The final werewolf struck, blindsiding Sam and slamming him into the moist, cinder block wall, as another wolf entered from upstairs, making his way to Leon's side after a few hours of surveillance. They had a muttered conversation for no more than half a minute, before the newcomer howled and leapt at Serenity.

The hunters held their own in the cramped space, Dean knocking out one of his adversaries and shooting the other one through the heart. Sam tussled with another monster for awhile, tackling him to the ground and gaining the upper hand, and Serenity wound through the fighting gracefully, luring one wolf away and shooting him before Michel knew she was gone. At the second shot, he whirled and caught sight of her, and attacked again. The wolf Dean had disabled climbed unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head, and leapt on him from behind, taking him down. It seemed all over for Sam, who was pinned down by a brutish mutt, and now Dean wasn't fairing much better. In a dark corner, Serenity raised the gun to kill Michel, only to have Leon fly out of nowhere and knock it from her hand, leaving four identical cuts down the length of her right forearm. "_Shit_," she muttered to herself, clasping her arm, and Michel paced before her, keeping her trapped in her corner.

"Well," Michel said, gleeful, pausing long enough to glance back at Sam and Dean, then looking back to Serenity. "I should have known you three would find each other."

"All the better to kill you," Serenity replied bitterly, grimacing in pain as the cut on her arm poured the crimson blood that she refused to admit drove her nuts.

Michel laughed. "And you're doing a great job," he commended mockingly, grinning to reveal razor-sharp fangs. "But dear, you've made a mistake. To my knowledge, hunters kill evil entities, and we are most certainly not _evil_."

"You _attacked_ us," Dean pointed out, his head forced to the ground by the heavy paw on his chest.

"_She_ attacked one of _us_ first," Michel corrected, nodding his shaggy head at Serenity. "We were merely protecting ourselves and all we stand for."

"And what, exactly, is that?" Serenity wanted to know.

"Why, peace and justice, of course. What else is worth fighting for?"

"Of course," she muttered, rolling her eyes, but Michel was on a roll. He ignored her and paced a few steps away so he could address all three of them at once.

"The _loups d'Orléans_, or Wolves of Orléans, was a secret society of, yes, werewolves, dedicated to protecting France. When imperialism began, and the country spread its people across the sea, the Wolves went with them. Notably, a special group under direct orders from a senior member of the Wolves, the duke of Orléans, was sent here, to Louisiana, to protect his new city, New Orleans. The Wolves continued their work, keeping the people secure and the city well-protected, for hundreds of years. And for all that time, entrance into the society was limited to the upper classes. Then, in the early twentieth century, the Wolves realized the need for help from the lower classes to keep order; eyes and ears on the street, if you will. My father was among the first middle-class men changed, and when I turned eighteen, he changed me.

"The boys who come to me, looking for work, need something to believe in. So, I change them at the full moon—only if they agree, of course—and employ them not only in my garage, but as the newest members of the Wolves."

"And the city just _accepts_ this?" Sam asked, skeptical. It all sounded too neat for him.

"They did," Michel replied reluctantly, then sighed. "Nowadays, the original, high society bloodlines have lost the wolf, so the government knows nothing about us. We are an underground organization, and I can assure you that our work is quite admirable."

"Killing a five-year-old tourist was _admirable_?" Serenity said, glaring at Michel as she started pacing in her corner. "Murdering a businessman with a wife and four children was _admirable_? Slaughtering a college girl on her way home from class was _admirable_?"

"Mistakes," Michel said simply, and shrugged. A small smile flickered across his face as he added, "We are human after all."

"Barely," Serenity muttered, and Sam locked eyes with her for half a moment, shaking his head once briefly. They didn't need to antagonize their captors any more than they already had.

"So, what now?" Dean demanded. "Okay, you've got us. Say you kill us. What then?"

"The young lady here makes the morning papers, since she had to go and stay at a fancy hotel and drive a nice car," Michel replied calmly. "And you boys simply vanish off the face of the Earth. I trust no one will come looking for any of you, and we can just let this all blow over."

"And if the bigwigs come down here, investigating what happened?" Serenity pressed.

Michel grinned. "I've handled the police before."

"Not the police. I meant, whoever it is who enforces the Covenant."

Michel was silent, looking away to hide the flicker of fear in his eyes. When he looked back, meeting her eyes steadily, he was smiling again. "Worry about yourself, girl."

"I know what I am—_half_ am—but I was bluffing with the other wolf before, the one I killed." She grinned, explaining it all more for the clueless Winchester brothers' benefit than for the wolves. "I've never taken a 

sip of blood, and I don't plan on ever doing so. I'm half-vampire, yes, but only by blood, not in practice. The Covenant clearly states that to be considered a vampire, and be subject to the governing codes of the document, one must drink blood. So, I've broken no laws…none governing nonhuman entities, anyway." She glanced at Dean, who had a hairy arm around his neck, and questioned innocently, "Murder is still against the law, isn't it?"

"You make light of slaying another living being," Michel noted, narrowing his eyes at her as his voice grew deeper, colder, more threatening. "As official protectors of our fellow citizens, it is our duty to stop you before you kill again." He locked eyes with each wolf in turn, then howled and launched himself at Serenity.

The fighting resumed, now that all the niceties were out of the way. Michel let loose on Serenity, but she gave back all she got. Dean wriggled out of his werewolf's grasp, only to have Leon attack from his left. Sam wrestled the wolf off of him again, getting back to his feet and getting off a shot at the monster, which barely grazed its shoulder. He realigned and fired again as the wolf approached, getting a direct hit to the abdomen. Leon attacked Sam in retaliation, as Dean began tussling with his wolf once more, gaining a good gash across the forehead before landing a kick to the wolf's gut and shooting it in the heart to put it down, once and for all. Across the room, Serenity shoved Michel far enough away to limp out of her corner and pull her gun, firing at will. There was no dramatic soliloquy or drawn-out death: three shots to the head, in rapid succession, finished Artois Michel off for good.

Everything stopped at the sound of the shots, followed by a quiet whimper as Michel hit the basement floor and laid face down in a pool of his own blood. Sam and Dean advanced menacingly on Leon, who fell to his knees.

"I'm all that's left," he murmured, half-mournful, half in wonder, as he looked between the brothers. "What happens now?" There was a shot, and he fell over backward, a wound in his chest flowing deep crimson and matting his fur for a moment, before he became a human again. The Winchesters turned and looked at Serenity, who let the gun fall to her side as she glanced at them both without a word, then made slow progress up the stairs and disappeared into the night.

A little while later, Sam knocked on Madame Malaya's door, and she admitted him and Dean, the latter bearing her dead grandson in his arms. The old woman looked near tears, but did not let herself cry in the presence of strangers. Instead, she managed to say, "Thank you. He is in a better place, I know. Better than what was here for him." She looked at Dean and added, "You saved him from himself."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, almost apologetic, then beckoned for Sam to follow him out as Malaya knelt by her grandson's corpse to mourn properly. The brothers were halfway down the steps when they hear her first wail of grief.

Dean and Sam returned to their hotel room, bruised, battered, and broken, and took care of their wounds in silence. When Dean started pacing the room, Sam glanced up from his spot on the bed and mused wearily, "She got to you."

"Well, I'm sorry I let an old woman's pain bug me a little," Dean replied shortly, keeping his eyes away from Sam's.

"Not Malaya," Sam corrected. "Serenity."

Dean paused and, frowning, slammed a fist against the wall and exhaled deeply in frustration, and then stared at the worn hotel carpet. "Not really," he replied at length. "Not her. What she made real."

"Like what?"

"The existence of vampires, for one." Dean turned and looked at his brother. "Couple years ago, Dad said a friend had wiped 'em out almost entirely. Suddenly, there are too many for us to handle."

"We don't know _exactly_ how many there are…"

"There are enough that they need an agreement of some sort to govern them." Dean resumed his pacing irritably, cutting off Sam's attempt to remind Dean that there was a good chance the Covenant was hundreds of years old and might not reflect the supernatural population today so much as the creatures that had been around centuries before. "Doesn't seem like vampires and werewolves fight often, but I don't think I'm comfortable knowing there are some super vamps out there running some kind of government for themselves." He stopped again, snapping at Sam to remember a name. "That guy Bobby told us about, the one Serenity hates…"

"Tempest?"

"Yeah, him. He seems pretty powerful. If we end up going against him some day, what's to say he won't drag all of his bloodsucking buddies into it?"

Sam forced himself into a sitting position, sighing. "We'll deal with it if it comes up," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "And we'll deal with Serenity if we ever see her again, which, honestly, I hope we don't. But for now, can we just go to sleep?"

Without a word, but obviously still conflicted, Dean flopped onto his bed, face buried in the pillow, and reached out a hand to shut off the light. In the darkness, Sam settled down into his own mattress, muttered a good night to his brother, and closed his eyes to sleep.

* * *


	4. Culpeper, Virginia

**_Author's Note: _I know, I know, my updates are slower than molasses off a stack of mile-high pancakes in the middle of a Midwestern blizzard, but hey, I'm a busy girl, and, unfortunately, things such as summer homework and my job take precedence over fanfic (no matter how much I have to write and how much I love me my Winchesters). This chapter is short, but the next is a bit longer and will be up soon, and trust me, you WANT to keep reading. The drama picks up next chappy...**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one, except Serenity. And the Jensen Ackles poster staring at me right now : D**

* * *

_One Month Later  
_**CULPEPER, VIRGINIA**

"Oh, _come on_," Dean growled as a cop car pulled out of nowhere and pulled him over just outside Culpeper. He had barely edged over the speed limit—hardly enough to warrant a damn _ticket_. But after much persuasion (persuasion, lying; toe-may-toe, toe-ma-toe), Dean managed to get the officer to let him off with a warning, though he did notice the police car following him down the road for the next few miles.

Sam was zonked out in the passenger seat when Dean's cell phone started ringing. Dean hazarded a glance in the rearview mirror and cursed; the cop was still on his tail. Was talking on a cell while driving illegal in Virginia? He couldn't keep the laws straight anymore. He dug the phone out of his coat pocket anyway, the vibrations seeming to insist on his full attention, and he didn't know if he should risk answering it with the cop so close. He could pull over and answer, of course, but then, depending on who it was and how long they wanted to keep him on the phone, they'd _never _get into New York by nightfall, and who knew what kind of trouble that haunted factory could churn out before they got there.

He glanced at the caller ID, but it wasn't helpful. "Restricted," he muttered, cocking an eyebrow at the phone just as the call was terminated. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, placing both hands on the wheel at exactly ten and two as the cop sped up and passed him, and he threw the bespectacled officer a friendly wave for good measure. He drove on, bouncing from one radio station to the next, and his phone started ringing again. Dean pulled it out again, noting that the caller's identity was once again "Restricted," and flipped it open, greeting the mystery caller with a curt, "Yeah, what?"

"Temper, temper, Dean," the caller trilled coyly, and Dean could just see the smirk on her face.

"Serenity," Dean realized aloud, then asked, "How'd you get my number?"

"Bobby, of course. He's our only link, really."

"And you know him…how?"

"Long story," she replied shortly. Changing the subject, she asked, "Don't you want to know why I'm calling?"

"You want a date?" Dean shot back, half-smiling, and glanced over at Sam, who shifted in his sleep.

"I want help," she replied, getting down to business, and then admitted softly, "I _need _help."

"You've caught my interest," Dean told her, settling back in his seat and stretching his arm out over the steering wheel.

"Where are you?"

"Virginia," he replied. "You?"

"New Jersey." There was a short pause, and she asked, "How much do you and that Frankenstein monster of yours know about the Jersey Devil?"

"Number one, no one calls him that but me," Dean chided.

"I apologize."

"And number two…well, we know a lot about a lot of things, but the Jersey Devil's never exactly been on our radar."

"Good. I'll explain when you get here, then."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, waving a hand to hold her off as if she could actually see him. "Who said anything about us coming up to help you?"

"I'm in Seaside Heights," Serenity said, ignoring him. "It's on the coast. Where are you, again?"

"Never said exactly. But we just left Culpeper, Virginia." Dean shook his head, trying to bring himself to his senses. Why the hell was he _telling _her this? Sam was awake now, smacking Dean's arm and silently demanding to know what was going on. Dean smacked him back, glaring at him, and said to Serenity, "What do you care? We're not coming."

"I need you," Serenity said, and he could tell that is killed her to admit it. "Please, just this once. Then I'll leave you alone, I _promise_." She sighed. "Trust me, I don't want to see you two just as badly as you don't want to see me."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can we refuse?"

"How long will it take you to get here?"

"I don't know, hold on." Dean snapped at the glove compartment with his driving hand, keeping the car steady with his knee, and hissed, "Dude, map, _now_."

"Map of _where_?" Sam snapped back, digging through the fast food napkins and discarded ketchup packets.

"Never mind," Dean sighed, and went back to the phone. "I don't know. I'd figure we'll be there by late tonight."

"I'll call you later and tell you where I'm staying," Serenity replied. The smug smile on her face (as it was now confirmed that she was the queen of manipulation) was evident in her voice as she said, "Toodles," and hung up.

Dean flipped his phone shut and jammed it back into his coat pocket, putting both hands back on the wheel. "We're going to New Jersey," he told his brother, who was busy stuffing all the junk that had fallen out of the glove compartment back in.

Sam stopped and looked at Dean in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? Who was on the phone?"

"Serenity."

Sam rolled his eyes and sat back, eyes still on his brother. "What did she want?"

"Something about the Jersey Devil." Dean shrugged. "I don't know; she'll explain when we get there."

"When we _get there_?" Sam echoed, and shook his head. "No way, man. We're going up to Albany like we planned, and we're going to lay the damn ghosts to rest, and we're going to forget she ever called."

"You're not driving, you don't get to decide."

Sam stared at his brother, at a loss for words. Dean glanced at him, mouth set in a hard line, and his eyes flickered back to the road in a second. The miles passed under the wheels and the Winchesters sat in silence, an invisible dividing line between them.

"She wanted to kill _Dad_," Sam reminded Dean levelly. "She's half _vampire_. We don't know her at all; she could turn on us in a second. We have to be careful around her. Even Bobby thinks she's dangerous."

"I know," Dean allowed softly, then turned on his brother. "I _know _all that, Sammie. But we help people, don't we? Well, she needs our help."

There was a pause. "That the most lame-ass excuse I've ever heard," Sam muttered, turning away, and Dean returned his eyes to the road before him.

"It's better to have her trust us and confide in us," Dean pointed out, "than to keep fearing her."

"I'm not _afraid _of her," Sam assured him, then fell silent and stared sullenly out the window. He didn't have a good feeling about _any_ of this, but he honestly couldn't argue with Dean's logic.

New Jersey it was.


	5. Seaside Heights, New Jersey

**_Author's Note: Ahhh, I know, long time, no update. But here it is, chapter 5 in all its glory--please enjoy, and REVIEW!_**

**Disclaimer: I do not write fanfic for monetary gain, just for my own entertainment. Oh, but Serenity's mine : )**

* * *

**SEASIDE HEIGHTS, NEW JERSEY  
**_5 Hours Later_

Right on schedule, Dean's cell phone started ringing again. He set aside his burger, driving one-handed again, and dug out the phone, tossing it to Sam to answer.

"Chateau Sur Mer," Serenity greeted Sam. "It's right on the boardwalk; you can't miss it."

"We just got here," Sam replied, glancing around for the motel she'd named. "We'll be there as soon as we find a place to park."

"Park quick," she snapped, and the line went dead.

Sam sighed and snapped the phone shut, passing it from hand to hand idly. Dean glanced at him, mouth stuffed with fast food burger bits, and managed to ask around a hunk of beef, "What did she say?"

"'Park quick,'" Sam relayed, adding, "She sounded…pissed. Wonder why."

"Do they need a reason?" Dean replied rhetorically, commenting on the entire female population, and guiding the Impala into a spot on the sidewalk outside the Chateau Sur Mer. Dean wolfed down the rest of his burger while Sam polished off a king-sized fries, then the brothers climbed out of the car. "Feed the meter," Dean directed Sam, walking off with a sly grin spreading across his face.

Sam muttered at his brother's back, but did as he'd been told, then followed Dean onto the boardwalk and around the back of the motel. They didn't know what room Serenity was in, and had no idea what name she'd registered under, so Dean figured the best way to meet up with her was to wait outside the building until she emerged. The brothers conversed in the chill night air, the ocean breezes cooling the boardwalk and the die-hards who still walked it, trying to enjoy themselves in the off-season. The nicest part of the Chateau Sur Mer, Dean realized, was the name. Otherwise, the paint was peeling and the sign was faded, and he could only guess how fantastic the rooms were. He hadn't pegged Serenity as the kind of girl to stay in a place like this, but he realized almost immediately after the thought that he barely knew the girl and really couldn't pass judgment on her just yet. She might be worse off than they were, if that was even possible. He wanted to know, but he didn't think it was polite to ask.

Eventually, Serenity appeared, wearing her customary black leather trench coat over a pale blue blouse with a darker, paisley print, dark jeans, and boots. It was her usual attire (nice shirt, impeccable make-up, hair hanging loose down her back), but she looked exhausted. The concealer hid it on her face, but her stride and slumped shoulders gave it away to anyway who watched her walk ten feet. Her room was on the second floor of the run-down Chateau, and she descended the outdoor steps to the boardwalk, managing a friendly smile as she came forward to greet the Winchesters.

"Thanks for coming," she said brightly, hands in her pockets as she tried to act casual, while other thoughts far from Seaside Heights and the Jersey Devil laid siege to her tired mind.

"Didn't seem like we had much choice," Dean replied, ribbing her as a sibling or close friend would. "So, what's up?"

"The Jersey Devil," she said, "according to recent reports, at least."

"Where's it been spotted?" Sam inquired, and Serenity snorted.

"More like where _hasn't_ it been spotted." She glanced around. The boardwalk was relatively dead, but she didn't feel comfortable discussing a case out in the open. Nodding to a restaurant a little way down the beach, she suggested, "Let's talk inside."

They made their way over in silence, taking a seat at a table towards the back of the place, beside a bay window and with a perfect view of the moonlit sea. They ordered a round of beers so as not to seem too conspicuous, then got down to business.

"The thing's supposed to stick to the Pine Barrens, but it's been everywhere lately," Serenity began, leaning forward. The brothers leaned closer to catch every word. "Around here a few times, even places like Princeton and Trenton. It hasn't done anything yet, but it's getting bold—I wouldn't be surprised if we heard about an attack within the next few days."

"This all sounds very bad," Dean noted, "but why'd you call us?"

"I'm getting to that," Serenity snapped, narrowing her eyes at him before continuing her story. "Legend goes that a woman, Deborah Smiths, came to New Jersey in the eighteenth century to marry a man who wanted nothing more than to have enough heirs to continue the good family name." She paused, glancing up as the waitress returned, and thanked the woman for the drinks before dismissing her so she could continue with her story-telling. "Anyway, she had twelve kids with this man, Leeds, but was dismayed to learn she was pregnant with the thirteenth."

"Thirteen kids." Dean whistled low, shaking his head. "That's a _lot_ of diapers."

"Indeed," Serenity replied icily, and Dean fell back in his seat, staring out at the water and drinking his beer, rebuffed. The young woman sighed, collecting her thoughts again, and said, "This woman didn't want another child, and she cursed it, saying she'd rather give birth to the Devil's child rather than another child sired by her husband. Her curse worked, apparently, because it's said the baby was born with cloven hooves, claws, and a tail, and soon went to work devouring its entire family." She took a swig of beer. "The legend may be true, but it's not about the Leeds family; their descendants are still around, alive and well and living right here in New Jersey."

"So, you think it's some sort of demon, maybe?" Sam guessed, still wrapping his mind around the tale.

Serenity shrugged. "I don't know. It could be a weird demon manifestation, or just some monster. Whatever it is, I'm figuring the usual things will do it: silver weaponry, maybe rock salt, holy water if it _is _a demon of some sort. I don't really know what to make of it."

"You seem to have everything pretty much figured out," Dean said. "So I still don't see why you needed us."

"There's more," she replied, and launched into her tale. "They say the Jersey Devil lives at this place called Blue Hole, and it's also said that the spot is a portal to Hell, which lends credibility to the demon theory. It could also by the Devil's Advocate incarnate. Anyway, I figured you might be interested in that aspect, seeing as you both seem to be so keen on demon hunting."

"I'm not even going to bother asking how you knew that," Dean said blandly, taking a long swill from the beer bottle that finished it off.

Serenity smiled appreciatively. "You're learning."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked suspiciously. "We help you with the Devil, you help us with the demons?"

"I was merely pointing it out as a possibility," Serenity replied, finishing her own beer, and that line of conversation was effectively killed.

"You said you needed our help," Sam pressed. "This just sounds like you thought we might want to check out the Blue Hole. Why do you need us here?"

"I _do_ need help," Serenity sighed wearily. "I've got a few things on my mind, but the Jersey Devil popped up on my radar, and I figured I should check it out. I'm worried; I don't want anyone dying on my watch." She paused, and admitted, "I'm not sure I can give this case my full attention. I need you two to help me out, just this once. And the way I see it…" She glared at them each in turn, Sam meeting her stare head on and Dean glancing at 

her briefly before turning his eyes back to the scenery outside the restaurant. "You owe me."

"We _owe_ you?" Dean turned his eyes to her, interest piqued. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're lucky I didn't kill you when we first met back in Minnesota," Serenity said, voice dropping to a dangerous tone and her stare meeting Dean's.

"I knew it," Sam muttered, and Dean looked at him sharply.

"Now what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded to know, exasperated with the entire conversation.

"Dad," Sam explained, keeping his eyes on his brother and avoiding Serenity's piercing gaze. "He killed her dad, remember? She wants revenge, but Dad's dead."

"Killing you two is close enough in my book," Serenity piped up.

Sam glared at her. "We're all orphans here. Can't you let it go?"

"_Let it go_?" she growled, eyes flashing. "Did you two _let it go_ when you were on the trail of the Yellow-Eyed Demon? Have you _let go_ of your mother's death? Your father's?" She stopped, breathing heavily with barely-contained rage, and then continued, "I lost my parents when I was _ten_. You had your father up until a year or two ago. Maybe it wasn't much of a life you had, but it was a _family_. I bounced around the foster care system, went through too many homes and parents and siblings and pets to remember, and ended up in group homes for my last four years in the system. I had to give up _everything_; I had _nothing_. Your father effectively ended my life." She stopped again, letting it all sink in. Sam was still staring at her, but Dean had looked away again, unable to meet her eyes. "The least you can do is help me out with a case."

Sam considered her words, looked to Dean, who refused to look anywhere but the floor, then swung his eyes back to Serenity. "Why should we help someone who wants us dead?" he asked quietly, voice and eyes hard and unyielding. Dean wasn't sure he liked the man Sam was becoming, but said nothing.

Serenity glared at them for a long moment of silence, then pushed away from the table, storming out of the restaurant and leaving the brothers to pick up the tab. Sam and Dean sat in uncomfortable silence after she'd gone, lost in their own thoughts, until Sam said, "She's dangerous, Dean. We shouldn't have come."

"She obviously needs our help," Dean replied, looking at him at last. "She's right, Sam—we owe her that. More than that, really, but if she'll take a couple days hunting the Jersey Devil over our heads on pikes, I'll do it."  
"Bobby was right—she's wild," Sam pushed. "_Too _wild. She's hot-headed and quick-tempered and if we do one thing to piss her off, I wouldn't be surprised if she blew our heads off for it."

"Our dad killed her dad," Dean argued back, rattling his empty beer bottle against the table. "She's allowed to be pissed."

"Why are you defending her?" Sam nearly shouted. "She's a stranger. I'm your _brother_, Dean. And you take her word over mine."

"Because I can see her reasoning," Dean yelled back. "You're against helping her because you don't like her. Well, dude, I'm willing to give her a try." He lowered his voice for the sake of keeping the argument at least somewhat private, and added, "She's half vampire and I'm gonna be a demon in a few weeks; plus, we're _all_ friggin' social outcasts. The only time any of us fit in is when we lie about our names and our jobs. We have a lot in common. I see that; why can't you?"

"We are _not _like her," Sam growled stubbornly. "She's hell-bent on revenge. And she's a _monster_, for Christ's sake!"

"Only half!" Dean snapped back childishly, and rose from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Sam demanded, perturbed that his brother was just going to leave in the middle of a major argument.

"Away from you," Dean replied hotly, tramping out of the restaurant without another word. Sam watched him go, fuming silently, then slapped down a few bucks to pay for the three beers and stalked out in the opposite direction.

Dean had exited the restaurant and walked back in the direction of the Chateau Sur Mer. He realized that he and Sam hadn't gotten a room, and cursed himself for not doing it earlier; they weren't exactly going to want to sleep in the same room, let alone register for one together. He speed-walked past the motel and down the boardwalk, cooling off, then doubled back and followed his footsteps back to the motel at a slower pace, replaying the conversations in his mind and mulling over where things had taken a turn for the worse. He wanted to help Serenity, truly, but he wasn't sure he could get Sam on board, and they were a package deal; one didn't work without the other.

"Dammit," he muttered, cursing Sam and his stubbornness. It was that same trait that had gotten Sam into so much trouble with their father, and now it was threatening to turn a potential ally into a permanent enemy. Serenity was on the fence about them, or had been. Tonight may have pushed her over the edge, far away from 

peaceful negotiations and cohabitation and into the realm of assassination. He'd seen what she could do, and knew she could do worse. He wouldn't put double homicide past her.

He had reached the Chateau Sur Mer again. He paused outside the building, looking into the poorly-tended courtyard, then started climbing the stairs up to the second floor. He'd watched Serenity leave her room, but couldn't remember if it was third or fourth from the steps. He hoped for third and knocked, taking it as a good sign that the lights were on inside the room.

She opened the door at her leisure, only after listening to him knock three times in a row, and then checking to make sure it was who she thought it was. She had considered letting him stand out there and knock all God damn night, or opening the door with her pistol in her hand, threatening bodily harm unless he left her alone, but had decided against it and, instead, opened the door and leaned in the slim opening, blocking his entrance. She didn't say a word, just stared at him, awaiting an explanation for his presence.

"I…wanted to apologize," Dean tried. "Sam was way out of line."

Serenity nodded mutely, eyes still flat and emotionless.

"And I want to help you," he said, trying again to get her to speak. "And I think, deep down, Sasquatch wants to, too. So, we'll help you out." He smiled, raising his fingers in the Boy Scout salute. "I'll keep him under control, I promise."

She considered, then stepped back, pulling the door open wider. "Want to come in?"

"Sure. Thanks." Dean stepped into the room and noted that his earlier assumption hadn't been far off. The air had a strange dampness to it, and the carpet seemed to squish underfoot. The curtains were tattered, the comforter on the solitary queen-sized bed was threadbare, and the metallic blue wallpaper was peeling at the edges, but it was still better than a lot of the places he and Sam had stayed in the past. He watched Serenity shut and lock the door, then walk around him and settle into the uncomfortable chair at an ancient-looking desk.

"You can sit down," she said, voice light and teasing, as she gestured to the bed.

Dean sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at the woman sitting across from him. Without her coat, the short sleeves of her shirt showed off thinly muscular arms with pale, freckled skin. She was short, he realized, and had an almost child-like look to her. Her face was entirely adult, and beautiful, but her facial expressions gave the impression of a cherubic innocence she hadn't possessed since before her parents died. Her turquoise eyes were cast downward, studying the carpet contemplatively, and he glanced away, too, once he realized he was staring.

"So, does this mean you forgive us?" he asked, keeping his tone as light as hers.

"I forgive you," she replied, looking up with a small smile. "I guess." She stood again, sighing quietly. "Verdict's still out on Sam, though. I get the impression he doesn't like me very much."

Dean shrugged. "I don't get him most of the time. I really couldn't tell you."

"He said I was a…a _monster_." She shivered at the description, not offering an explanation how she knew what had been said after she left the room. She looked at Dean and asked, "Do you think I'm a monster?"

"No, of course not," he scoffed, and stood, too, if only because he didn't like feeling like she had the upper hand. "You said you'd never attacked anyone."

"And you believe me?"

"Should I not?"

They held each other's eyes, and she smiled again. "You should," she assured him.

"That mean you won't kill us?"

It had been meant as a joke, but she frowned and replied, "I haven't decided yet."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean asked, chuckling it off. But her expression didn't change, and he sobered up quickly. "Sorry. But, seriously, we didn't do anything. I know you had a beef with our dad, but we're not him. We do our research. We wouldn't have made the mistake he did."

"_Someone_ has to pay, damn it!" Serenity exclaimed suddenly, slamming a fist on the desk so hard they both thought it would collapse.

"I know," Dean said soothingly, then told her, "Tempest. He set your dad up; whatever happened after that was _his_ fault."

"Your father should have known," she argued back heatedly. "He should have seen it was a set up. He shouldn't have killed my dad!"

"People make mistakes," Dean said simply with a shrug, but his casual observation only made her angrier.

Serenity whirled on him. "Hunters shouldn't," she spat back. "Because when we do, innocent people die."

"Our dad was doing the best he could," Dean argued, clenching his fists to keep control of his indignation. One minute, he was admiring her for her beauty and charm, and the next, he wanted to snap her neck for being just as stubborn as Sam could be. "He had years of experience telling him your dad killed a few dozen people; what would you have done in his position?"

Unable to come up with a reply that wouldn't call for her surrender to Dean's logic, Serenity suddenly sprang forward, landing a right hook to Dean's jaw and socking him in the stomach. Caught off guard, Dean stumbled away from her, testing his jaw gingerly and holding his stomach.

"Fine," he grumbled. "If you want to play it like that…" He straightened and advanced slowly on Serenity, who swung out at him, enraged. Dean blocked the blows easily, content to let her throw a few punches if it was what would keep her sane. But her fighting was growing more fierce, her hits harder, and she kicked him in the shins a few times with her heavy boots, and he realized she had no intention of letting up any time soon. Forced to fight back, he threw her back against the door and slammed up against her, holding his arm across her neck to restrain her. She struggled against him, scratching his face and kicking him in the balls, and his hold on her loosened enough for her to slip away and throw him down. She descended on him, kneeling over him and punching his face, even as he raised his hands to protect himself. At a break in the action, he knocked his head against hers, ignoring the pain in his forehead to seize the opportunity he'd given himself and roll her over, so he now had her pinned to the soggy carpet. He punched her once to keep her down, and reared back to swing again, only to have her stop his attack and throw him off. They sprang to their feet at the same moment, charging each other again, and caught hold of anything they could to stop the onslaught. Neither would surrender and neither would accept defeat; Dean couldn't tell how long they could keep this up.

She managed to fight him down to the ground again, only after he'd cracked his temple on the corner of the old desk, and he tugged her hair in reply, grimacing and landing another hit to her abdomen. They tussled on the floor, neither gaining the upper hand for long, then pushed away from each other. Serenity tumbled away from him and leapt back up, charging as Dean climbed to his feet once more, and they locked in place in the middle of the motel room, his left hand with a tight grip around her right wrist, held up high over her head to stop her from hitting him again, and her left hand blocking another of his punches and holding his hand mere inches from her cheek. They glowered at each other, legs entwined to protect themselves from further harm, and they took the break to catch their breaths. Serenity struggled against Dean's grasp as he, slowly but surely, began to smile. Sweat matted her bangs to her forehead and her eyes were alight with the heat of battle, but her breath felt nice on his face and he had never been close enough to see just how pretty her eyes were. She smelled nice, too, a mix of tropical fruit and self-confidence, and she wore a necklace around her neck, a simple amethyst pendant on a thin silver chain. Her struggling ceased and her entire body sagged with exhaustion, as she let herself examine him the way he was her, and she admitted that she liked what she saw. She'd heard of Dean Winchester, of course; his reputation preceded him almost everywhere she went. But seeing him like this, so close and personal, was different. She liked his eyes-- and the way he fought. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy (or was that just the persona he was trying to give off to get girls?) and he wanted to help her. Definitely a plus.

The glaring turned to interested staring, and the fight left them both. The battle had ended in stalemate, but neither seemed to mind much. Everything froze, even their breathing stopped, seemingly, for a full minute, and then their lips met and their hands fell out of their defensive positions and they were brought together, not by anger, but lust. Serenity's arms locked around Dean's neck and his hands fell to her hips as the kiss deepened, and though they had seemed to loathe each other on the surface, Serenity couldn't help but wonder if another, stronger emotion had forced the events of the night. After all, it had been Dean who'd been compelled to come up and apologize to her; that must have meant _something_.

His hands slid around to the small of her back and she put her hands on his shoulders, drawing him closer, then sliding her fingers under the collar of his leather jacket and shoving it off. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, entwining his fingers in her long bronze hair, and tilted her backward. They fell onto the squeaking mattress, Serenity pushing away and sitting up to pull off her shirt, and Dean was impressed (not to mention rather happy) by how forward she was being, as they descended on each other again, his lips starting on her lips and trailing down her neck as she worked the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. She reached up lazily to shut off the light, all her energy focused on kissing him, and wondered for only a moment what, _exactly_, they thought they were doing before letting him run his hand down her bare stomach, shivering at his touch.

_Sleeping with the enemy_ isn't quite right, but it's the first phrase that comes to mind.

* * *

**_D__awn_**

"These sheets are disgusting," Serenity whispered in the early morning quiet, curling up closer to Dean and picking at the bedspread in disgust. "I don't know _why_ I never stay anywhere nice."

"Because you're don't have a real job?" Dean offered.

Serenity rolled on top of him, propping herself up on an elbow and shaking hair out of her eyes. "I work," she replied indignantly. "Not all of us pull credit card scams to survive."

"But wouldn't life be simpler if we did?" he asked, smiling good-humoredly. She couldn't help but smile back, leaning in to kiss him again.

Stretching and wrapping her arms around his neck, Serenity glanced at the clock and reminded Dean, "Your brother will be worrying about you."

"Let him worry," Dean said dismissively, rolling her over and trapping her on the bed. "I'd rather be here."

"Only because I let you use my body for your enjoyment," Serenity shot back, smirking.

"Sam's better in bed," Dean replied, all seriousness, and Serenity suppressed a laugh.

"I'll bet."

"You know how it is: all those long, lonely nights on the road, just driving and sharing our feelings and crying at the hard memories…"

Serenity couldn't help but laugh, struggling out from under him and into a sitting position, then dragged him to her. "Well, now you have me to call when you're lonely," she whispered, giving a slow, small smile.

"And ditch my brother like that?" Dean replied, feigning hurt. "Never." He grinned and, letting the joke die, closed the gap between them, the kiss deepening until she was flat on her back on the mattress again. They were going hot and heavy again when his cell phone started ringing.

Dean groaned, reaching off the edge of the bed in search of his jacket, and Serenity sighed wearily. "No rest for the wicked," she intoned, letting her head loll of the mattress and studying the room from a different perspective.

"More like 'no sex for hunters,'" Dean muttered grumpily, clutching at the jacket's arm and dragging it close enough to dig his cell out of the pocket and flip it open. "What?"

"Dean? Where the hell were you last night?"

"I slept in the car," Dean replied, the lie rolling off his tongue before he knew he was saying it. He glanced at Serenity and smiled, watching her smile back slowly, then turned his attention back to the phone. Sam couldn't know he'd spent the night with her; he hated her guts enough as it was.

"I was just at the car," Sam replied, sounding impatient. "You're not there."

"Thus the past tense," Dean shot back, smirking. "Dude, you didn't sleep much last night, did you?"

"I got a room at the motel," Sam told him, ignoring the jab, "and I tried calling around midnight."

"Sorry, I must not have heard it."

"Whatever. Where are you now?"

"Coffee shop on the boardwalk," Dean replied, ignoring Serenity's lips trailing over his shoulder and up his neck. He cleared his throat, holding her off with his free hand, and added, "I don't know where; I walked kind of far. I'll come back and meet you somewhere."

"Outside the Chateau?"

"Be there in a few," Dean agreed in farewell, and slapped the phone shut, tossing it on top of his jacket. Forcing himself to sit up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his neck. "Sam's worried, as predicted," he told Serenity, smiling over his shoulder at her. "I have to go."

"Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am," she sighed, wrapping the bedspread tight around her thin frame and kneeling beside him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and asked, "We'll talk later?"

Dean nodded. "We've got a Devil to catch," he reminded her, rising to collect his clothing.

Serenity watched him scour the motel room for a missing sock, a bemused expression on her face, as she settled back against the pillows. "Let me know if you come up with any leads," she said as Dean disappeared under the bed. Raising her voice, she added, "I'll call you this afternoon, and we can all meet up and share our information."

Dean reappeared, sock held triumphantly over his head, and he grinned. "Found it. What did you say?"

"We'll meet up later, you, Sam, and I," she repeated, paraphrasing. "We'll get to work on this Jersey Devil thing."

"All right." He sat on the bed, the mattress creaking, and pulled on the sock and his shoes, then shrugged on his coat and stood. He turned back to say his farewells to Serenity, and she stood to meet him, the damp sheets trailing behind her like the world's ugliest prom gown.

"Are you going to tell Sam where you really were last night?" she asked quietly.

Dean considered, then shook his head. "No. He wouldn't exactly be…thrilled."

"I thought so." They avoided each other's eyes, shuffling awkwardly, unsure what to say, until Serenity half-inquired, half-demanded, "What did last night mean to you?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not too good with the morning-after small talk."

Serenity smiled wryly. "Neither am I. Just because I'm a chick doesn't mean all I want to do is talk about my feelings all day."

Dean chuckled. "Okay, at least we agree on that."

"I just wanted to know," she clarified, "what, _exactly_, is going to come of this. Because I don't want monogamy or anything right now…" She glanced at him. "And I don't think you do, either. So, I figured, we could work together when we run into each other, and if we need each other for…anything else…well…" She grinned. "I have your number."

"Okay, but it seems kind of one-sided. What if _I_ have to get in touch with _you_?"

Serenity reached up, pressing her lips to his and, with one hand clutching the sheets around her, let her other hand run over his cheek. "Call Bobby," she murmured, smiling and kissing him again. Lightly, she pushed him towards the door. "Go talk to your brother."

"Yeah, I'm going." Dean walked to the door, hand resting on the doorknob, and he turned back to smile at her. "Talk to you later."

"Bye." Serenity smiled and gave a small wave, watching him leave. Once he was out, she crossed to the door and listened to him descend the ancient, seawater-warped steps, then, still smiling, turned back to the room and launched herself onto the bed, snuggling down into the moist bedding for a few hours of sleep.

Dean descended to the boardwalk, hurrying down the planks and grabbing two cheap cups of coffee from the first place he found, and then sauntered up to the front of the Chateau Sur Mer. Grinning brightly at his brother, he slapped his shoulder. "Hey, Sammie boy," he greeted him, offering him an insulated cup. "How'd you sleep?"

"All right, I guess," Sam replied warily, eyeing his brother and sipping the coffee tentatively. "Good night in the car?"

"Yeah, yeah, not too bad," Dean agreed, taking three long gulps of his own coffee. "How about you?"

"Apparently not as good as your night." There was a pause, Dean still grinning and finishing off his coffee, and Sam didn't want to ask, but felt he had to. "Dude, did you…meet someone last night?"

"Hm?" Dean glanced at his brother, not picking up on the subtext of the question.

"Like…a _girl_?"

Dean mulled over how to reply, and finally smirked nonchalantly and said, "Jealous?"

"Oh, man, we're in town, what, a couple hours and you find a girl willing to sleep with you?"

Dean shrugged. "It's both a gift…and a curse."

"All right, we're done." Sam tossed his coffee cup in a nearby trash can, disgusted, and walked around the car to climb into the passenger seat. "Come on, we're going to the library."

"Sam, I _seriously _doubt the library's open…"

"We'll get breakfast or something, then," Sam replied stubbornly, as Dean climbed into the car. He looked at him. "Did you at least get her number, or are you just going to let her think you'll come back for her someday?"

"Oh, we'll be keeping in touch," Dean said mysteriously, then turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. Grinning cheekily, he glanced at his brother and asked, "So, are you in the mood for pancakes, or what?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow, sighed, and turned to look out the window. He was fed up with Dean evading his questions.

"Pancakes, it is," Dean answered himself, not allowing Sam to rain on his parade, and sped off in the direction of the nearest IHOP.

It was around three when Dean's cell started vibrating madly. The brothers were holed up in the local library, researching anything and everything they could find on the Jersey Devil, as they had been since the library opened at ten that morning. Sam was pouring over a recent online article as Dean studied history texts with relevant information, but the latter was glad for the break. He pulled out his phone, Sam glancing at him curiously, and flipped it open. "Hello?" he greeted the caller, his tone somewhat gentler than it usually was. Sam noticed.

"Like you have no idea who this is," Serenity teased from the other end of the line, perched on the boardwalk railing and staring out at the ocean as she spoke. "Meet me in Atlantic City in an hour and a half."

"Atlantic City, huh? Are you finally going to let us have some fun?"

"We had fun last night, Dean," Serenity reminded him, smiling. "Today, we work. Just meet me, all right?"

"Why there?" Dean wanted to know, and he heard Serenity sigh, exasperated.

"Because it's near the Pine Barrens, and that's where the Devil lives…supposedly. I dug up a few interesting things. And don't you want to know where the portal to Hell is?"

"You know where it is?" Dean asked, anxious to get going, and Sam shot him a perplexed look.

"Mmhmm. So, come to Atlantic City, and we'll talk."

"Where are we meeting you?"

There was a brief pause, then Serenity said, "I'll find you."

Dean glanced at Sam, waving a hand to assure him he'd explain in a minute, and replied easily, "See you soon, then."

"Not soon enough," she replied, slapping her phone shut, and praying he'd taken it as the joke she'd meant it to be. To her own ears, at least, it had sounded too damn sincere.

In the library, Dean stowed his cell away in an inner jacket pocket and stood, slapping Sam's arm. "Come on, we're on the move again."

"So now we're at her every beck and call," Sam shot back darkly. He didn't need his brother to tell him who was on the phone to be sure it was Serenity.

Dean froze, narrowing his eyes. "No, actually, we're not. But working with someone _usually_ means you have to see them once in awhile, Sammie."

"Call her back and tell her to come back here," Sam dared him, rising slowly.

"I can't."

"Why _not_?"

"I, uh…" Dean shrugged helplessly. "I don't have her number."

Sam stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head wearily and slammed his laptop shut. "Guess we'd better get going then," he said, his voice low and almost dangerous, and the brothers left the library without another word.


End file.
